>> Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Last week on a bus to the amazing metropolitan city of Chennai, I met a dentist. I know he was a dentist because he asked me why I hadn't sought out orthodontic treatment (I have unusually sharp and slightly out-of-place canines), and then gave me professional advice on how to correct my unseemliness ("Of course though, if it doesn't bother you aesthetically then I suppose it's alright"). I could hear him speak in italics. Added to this his constant greasy grinning and what he told me next, I don't think I liked him very much.

He said he didn't lust any more. We were discussing various Art of Living programmes (I haven't been to any but I would like to) and he told me how, through controlled breathing and willpower, he did not experience the negative emotion of lust any more.

What is negative about the emotion of lust? I don't always act on it, but the occassional surge of wanting (or frisson, as a writer of 'romantica' might put it) feels pretty nice.

>> Monday, June 7, 2010

In my never-ending state of hyperactive insomnia quest for perfection, I changed my blog url a couple days back. Twice. Maybe thrice. Okay, five times but that's it. And now my comments are gone! All of them! Not one comment still here! And it's not my fault! Not one bit! Blogger ate up all my comments!

This post is here because I'm bored out of my fucking mind so you don't think I'm a loser with no friends. About a dozen people or so do read my blog. A couple of them have been known to post the occasional comment. I'm no loser.

But look here, do I use too many exclamation marks? Is this font too small? Is my hair too frizzy? Stop looking away! I don't have ADHD! Look at me. LOOK AT ME!

(17th September 2010) A happy update - All comments have been restored.

>> Saturday, June 5, 2010

Since doing this sort of thing seems to be all the rage nowadays.

Before we begin, you must know that at any time, you can speed up this whole terribly complex process (or even completely skip procedure) depending on amount of cleavage you decide to show. Just so you know.

1. Identify: You see that good-looking bespectacled boy with the pair of earphones and no sense of style? That is possibly him. Trail him. If he finishes his canteen dosai and then proceeds to go attend a quiz somewhere, he's your man. These boys are always attending quizzes somewhere.

2. Read up: On trivia from the following movies: Star Wars/ Lord of the Rings/ all Quentin Tarantino movies/ all Mani Ratnam movies. These may sound pedestrian, but the good Engineer Boy has a vulgar amount of information on most of these (plus of course even more trivia about a wholly abnormal number of films). Repeat this process with information about Jimi Hendrix and Metallica, and any other popular music not made by a boy band.

3. Accost: At (obviously) a quiz club event. Start a conversation and mention in passing pieces of the completely useless information you should have gleaned by now from Wikipedia. At a relevant moment, say something like, "OMG don't be such a lameasspadawan!!" It makes little sense and might sound stupid to the uninformed outsider, but the engineerboy will be duly impressed. After the quiz is over and you have placed first, tell him how even though he came 3rd, you thought he "totally pwned" that one question about Naughty America. Then glance down at the the large erection outlined in his pants and smile cunningly, and whisperingly give him directions to the restroom (in Elvish).

4. Make your mark!: Now that you have ingratiated yourself with his skewed sense of what is cool, let him know you can think for yourself. Violently diss an A.R.Rahman album. He might walk away, but curiosity will lead him back. If he doesn't return... well, fuck it. There are so many more of them!

5: This is important: In bed, if you ever get that far, let him cry a little afterwards. Take steps to ensure he doesn't start to resent you. Maybe hold him and offer him a cookie.

6. Be careful: Around his parents. Never let on that you are anything more than friends. He's most probably terrified of his parents and in fact, his meek-looking father is actually the reason he's been bullied into doing his engineering anyway. Which leads me to my next point:

7. Don't expect to date an engineer: If you do start going with your gorgeous quizzer-boy, chances are he won't stay an engineer for long. Once his filial promises have been fulfilled and he has an engineering degree, he'll go a little nuts and start doing something completely unexpected and dorky, like making and selling his own Star Wars quilts, or something unexpected and cool, like being a professional bonsai artist. Chances are, he might decide to do an MBA. At which point, you must leave him.

>> Monday, May 3, 2010

I read best in the loo. It's a childhood thing, in fact when I was 10 it made my mother tear one of my Enid Blyton St. Clares in half, but then the next day I had it taped back and was sticking it in the waistband of my skirt to take to the toilet. She never asked me what that suspicious rectangular shape was, sticking out of my abdomen at an odd angle, but she waited till I thought she was cool with it and the next time I stepped out of the toilet with a book in my hand, BAM! She shredded that book to bits. But I was a stubborn child and well... what I'm trying to say is, habits like this develop over time.Anyhow, I read good when I poop. It's my little bit of "me-time", when I can pool my pants around my ankles and stretch my legs out and relax. I bust stress that way. (Stink? What stink? My poo smells like roses.) And while I usually spend about a half-hour in the loo each time, it's been down to ten minutes ever since I started that godforsaken book I mentioned in my previous post. I hate the hellish thing to bits, but I've never started a book that I didn't finish, and painful as it is, I'll see this thing to the end. And make sure I read all of it only in the comfort room.

NOTE: Elia Kazan, great man though he is acknowledged to be, ratted on his colleagues for being Commies at a time when Communists used to be hunted down and killed, which makes him a dick, and therefore makes it okay to hate his work.

>> Saturday, May 1, 2010

I can't poo unless I don't have a book to read. This is what I'm currently reading (The Arrangement by Elia Kazan), except my copy doesn't have boobs on the cover to distract me from what's written inside, which makes it so much worse. Anyway, I've decided to read all of it - beginning to end - only during poop time. Mostly because it's too horrible to read outside of the toilet, but whatever.